


Carnivore

by escspace



Series: Fun With Friends [3]
Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Biting, Bottom Raizel, M/M, Modern Ragar AU, Smut, Tentacles, Top Frankenstein, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: “Am I your friend, Frankenstein?”Raizel has a peculiar request to make of his Bonded.
Relationships: Cadis Etrama di Raizel/Frankenstein (Noblesse), Frankenstein/Ragar Kertia/Cadis Etrama Di Raizel, Ragar Kertia/Cadis Etrama di Raizel
Series: Fun With Friends [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624360
Comments: 18
Kudos: 111
Collections: The Modern Kertia Expansion Pack: Keeping Up with the Kertias





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queen_of_the_Ruckus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_the_Ruckus/gifts).



> Part of a smut fic exchange with Queen_of_the_Ruckus. Stay tuned for her part!

Rain patters gently against the thick fogged glass window of the restaurant. It is cold to Raizel’s touch, and he promptly turns back to the laminated menu at hand, mind working furiously, eyes roaming and roaming, hoping to spot some sort of divine sign that might clue him into what he should order. Feeling the weight of each passing second on his head, he finally looks up at Ragar sitting across from him. “I will have what you will have.”

Ragar nods. He orders two banana split ice creams. They arrive topped with sprinkles, whipped cream, and a couple thousand calories.

Raizel’s silverware sinks easily into the center scoop, and leisurely, he swallows a spoonful, eyes cast downward appreciatively. “Is this the establishment you and Frankenstein frequent every week?” he asks.

Ragar shakes his head gently. “We are...no longer welcome at our usual bar.” Though his gaze remains steady, a quiet embarrassment tinges his confession. “They did not take well to my firearm when I had revealed it to end a confrontation with a drunken aggressor.” His eyes slip sheepishly to the side briefly before returning to his dinner-dessert. “But I do not believe you would have enjoyed what they serve there very much, Sir Raizel. This patisserie is much better suited to your tastes.”

Raizel too focuses on his ice cream, a pleasant, sweet, slowly melting delight, soft to his mouth. After a while of personal silence occupied by the various scrapes and clinks of silverware and china, he tells his companion, “You are much closer to Frankenstein in taste than I am, Ragar.”

“Am I, Sir Raizel?” Ragar tugs at his mask, affectionate.

A smile, both utterly friendly and a touch bittersweet, graces Raizel's lips, touched with the sweetness of his serving of ice cream. "At times, I wonder if perhaps Frankenstein would have suffered less grief had he chosen to wander into your home instead of mine back in Lukedonia." He looks down and far away to times long gone.

"Sir Raizel." Ragar lowers his spoon, sliding it in between a scoop of ice cream and the oblong glass bowl. "He is your Bonded, and you are his Master. I possess not a single modicum of doubt that he would not have it any other way."

Raizel's eyes glint mysteriously, something turning in his mind. Approvingly and perhaps a little teasingly, he says, "You are very confident."

Ragar returns his gaze. "And that is because I am both your and Frankenstein's friend, Sir Raizel." The pride in his words lifts his head.

The expression on Raizel's face shifts subtly, one amicable shape into another: a tender, curious surprise at his words to a warmer smile obscured by a spoonful topped high with a mountain of vanilla. After swallowing, he tilts forward a little, attention caught completely by Ragar. Rather intimately, he murmurs, "Will you tell me, Ragar, what it is like to be Frankenstein's friend?"

Ragar gives his mask a tug, nodding. Then, he leans forward as well, just as indulgently intimate.

Under the bright lights and within the languid music, amongst the chirping and chatter of the other customers, they share friendly secrets.

Raizel remembers the prior night. He remembers the siren call of Ragar's both agonized and delighted cries as he is picked apart and brought to dizzying heights of pleasure under Frankenstein's ruthlessness, leaving him trembling and beside himself, much unlike a Kertia but very much like Ragar. They satisfy that side of each other — the desire for bite, fight, and a good time — as friends do.

Ragar tells Raizel about all the thrills of friendship.

* * *

That night, when he returns home, Frankenstein has already prepared tea. Raizel takes a seat on the sofa as Ragar collects the necessary cash for grocery shopping from his friend before quickly heading out the door again.

They enjoy their ritual peace. Like always, steam drifts lazily from his tea cup and curls around Raizel’s face, its delicate, herbal scent lovely and familiar. Raizel’s eyes wander to Frankenstein, who, as always, stands dutifully to his right, poised to serve as gracefully as ever.

“Yes, Master?” Frankenstein can read him without even touching their bond.

After a considerate pause, Raizel reveals what he has been wondering. “Am I your friend, Frankenstein?”

Frankenstein blinks at him, seemingly lost for a second before he relaxes his expression again into a benign smile. “You are my _Master._ ”

Raizel lowers his tea slightly. Another beat of watching silence. “I will ask again; am I your friend, Frankenstein?”

Frankenstein is taken aback. He stands stock still, his expression creasing slightly in assessment, his lips pressed close together.

Raizel takes Frankenstein’s weighted silence as enough of an answer and nods. He resumes to sipping his tea. When he is done, he sets down his cup, dulling the sound of clinking porcelain with an extended pinky, and stands. He looks over Frankenstein’s still refined form, now touched by the stiffness of anticipation. Raizel nods at him, and that is enough to tell Frankenstein to follow him into Frankenstein’s room.

Frankenstein closes the door behind them.

Raizel has his back to him. He stands still, thoughts spinning, working through any number of permutations of events — of what he can choose to do now or not at all. In another world, in another timeline, he wonders if he could have been a friend. He wonders what friendship means. Then, he decides to turn around, grasp at Frankenstein’s lapels, and crowd him against the wall, startling the both of them. His eyes burn desire into Frankenstein’s own wide stare. “Perhaps I am not your friend, Frankenstein,” he says. “But as your Master, I would like to know what it is like to be one.” His words tumble out of him. “I want you to be honest with me. I want you to ruin me. I want you to put me back together again.” He leans forward, his breath brushing Frankenstein’s cheek. “You have always been far too kind to me, Frankenstein.”

Raizel knows that he is inadequate at many things; he knows that all he really has is the powers of his blood, and such powers are not hard earned; he has always existed with them. He is not like Frankenstein, who has clawed his way to where he stands with his cunning, determination, and compassion, above all else. And yet, Frankenstein calls him ‘Master’ and gives to him every luxury in the world. Frankenstein is proud of him; he is, astoundingly, proud serve and bow to him, and the magnitude of such pride is immense. Raizel knows he does not deserve this, but he does not question Frankenstein on this; he can only be gracious.

Frankenstein swallows and takes in a steadying breath. Tentatively, he reaches up to place his hands on Raizel’s hips. He whispers back, “If that is what you desire, Master, I will obey.”

Raizel finds himself tipped onto the bed, Frankenstein above him, pressing him down onto the embracing, flocculent covers and pillows. Darkly, Frankenstein rasps against his ear, “Do you wish for me to ravage you, Master? Do you wish for me to tear you apart? Do you wish for me to take you?”

Raizel leans into him. “I am at your mercy.”

Visibly, Frankenstein steels himself. “Yes, Master...” He dips his head in a final bow.

* * *

His lips gently mold around the shape of the gag, and his arms are bound behind him, holding him tightly and intimately as Frankenstein does. Raizel is on his knees, but his head is bowed into his pillow. He jerks forward as Frankenstein thrusts into him brutally from behind, carefully uncaring. The heavy drag against him makes Raizel huff as he moans quietly past the gag, body heating and flushing with vigor, rosy against the white sheets.

Frankenstein presses down on him, filling his mind and his body with his presence. Raizel’s cock twitches as Frankenstein's hand snakes down to press a lively palm sized vibrator to it, running it along Raizel’s hard slickness while he strokes him, and Raizel shifts and shudders.

Slowly, Raizel sighs, feeling small and sweet in hard contrast to his usual stately regalness. Frankenstein is warm against him, shielding him from all else, as if Raizel is only deserving of such tenderness, as if ‘Sir Cadis Etrama di Raizel’ has only ever been ‘Rai,’ at least for the night.

_Are you alright, Master?_

_I am fine._

_Please tell me if it ever becomes too much._

Frankenstein drives into him and relentlessly presses the toy to the flushed head of his cock as his fingers grip and slide over him. The gag muffles his sounds and the binds cage his movements as Raizel is overwhelmed and willingly helpless. His knees crinkle the sheets as he cums onto Frankenstein’s hand, spotting the bed with his release as he trembles slightly, his insides convulsing around the cock continuing to stretch him.

Raizel, in the blissful haze of his climax, hears Frankenstein’s strained, appreciative groan. Frankenstein’s breath warms his neck. They are both silent and still for a moment, breathing and breathing. “Shall we continue, Master?” Frankenstein asks, ever attentive and concerned as he withdraws the toy slightly, though his cock still rests inside of him.

Raizel makes an affirmative sound and nods, hair sliding against his pillow, his body thrumming and blood roaring.

* * *

He is on his back now, legs wrapped around Frankenstein’s waist. Raizel cranes his neck to the side, welcoming Frankenstein’s sharp teeth against his skin that draw precious blood.

Red stains his lips as Frankenstein pulls away, fanged like a carnivore. He quickly bites him again and again, tearing at him, hedonistic, scandalous, outrageous. Dark, red blood smears trails onto Raizel's once unmarked neck, chest, and shoulders, and pain sparks on the surface of his skin like firecrackers, there and gone. Heat blooms from all of the parts Frankenstein mouths, and the broad, possessive press of Frankenstein's tongue savoring his flesh makes Raizel blush.

They are drunk on each other and absolutely sacrilegious.

Raizel closes his eyes, chest heaving as Frankenstein presses a different toy to his cock that drills against him harder and faster than the last. Frankenstein knows just where to press against him on the inside to drive him straight to the edge. Pleasure is both ruthless and liberating.

His lips and the gag have picked up a generous wet sheen. Raizel moans and tilts his head luxuriously back as his body rocks and he shudders in another climax, this time dirtying his own bare skin. He drifts endlessly in a daze, insides churning and singing and relentlessly pleased.

Frankenstein makes his own pleasured sound as he pulls out of him and strokes himself to completion over Raizel’s form, adding to the warm mess already on him. Frankenstein watches him with reverence.

Again, he asks, _Are you alright, Master?_

Raizel can only smile with his eyes, letting out a long, slow breath.

_I am fine, Frankenstein. Continue._

* * *

His mouth and his arms are freed, but Frankenstein has slipped a cock ring snugly over him. Raizel leans forward, bringing their bodies closer as he clutches at Frankenstein’s back. He can hear the smile in his voice as Frankenstein says, “Do you want me that much?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Frankenstein pumps him in earnest, working him up again, making him sigh and his chest flutter. He has slipped another invention deep inside of him, and it thrashes and rumbles powerfully within him, all throughout him, sending shivers down his body and electricity up his spine.

Raizel’s lips are captured ravenously, mouth open and wet. Frankenstein consumes him, swallows him up. He makes him squeeze his eyes shut and gasp and gasp. Hands, lips, and teeth everywhere — grazing, pressing, loving — making him squirm and utter and grasp for Frankenstein blindly. Led astray from his composure, Raizel does not wish to be composed. He indulges in this as if he is entitled to shamelessness.

Frankenstein leans over him, crowding him, not letting him up for air as he kisses and kisses. Mischievously, he slams the toy deeper into Raizel.

Raizel jolts and his fingers dig into Frankenstein’s shoulder. His cock, sensitive and hard, aches within Frankenstein’s hold. Breathless, he inquires, “Should I cum, Frankenstein?”

Frankenstein nuzzles against his neck. “Just a little longer, Master.”

Raizel shuts his eyes and groans, having thoroughly submitted himself to Frankenstein’s care.

* * *

Raizel blinks rapidly up at the ceiling, mouth wordlessly open as the toy inside of him is suddenly exchanged for something girthier, filling him to the brim. It drives the breath from him with every thrust as Frankenstein twists it mercilessly within. There is not even room to gasp, however, as Frankenstein captures his mouth again.

Voice growling with heated desire, Frankenstein asks him, “Do you like this, Master?”

Raizel, newly flushed, swallows down a whimper and nods, gasping in the short moment he is allowed to. His body clenches with a sweet, longing ache.

“I’m glad...” Frankenstein’s teeth are fanged when he grins. There is a strange light to his eyes.

Raizel burns up on the inside with a white-hot chill. The shape filling him is amorphous and shifting, reaching hungrily for anything in him, touching him in impossible ways. A labored moan leaves him as his heart hammers. When he manages to focus his gaze down, he sees purple sparks leaping over Frankenstein’s skin.

His hand reaching within Raizel is blackened, and his eyes are glazed over, possessed by power and pleasure. Frankenstein breathes heavily against him. “Do you wish to be a friend, Master? Do you wish to see me at my worst?”

Raizel reaches for him, embracing. “Show me everything,” he tells him.

* * *

A warm, trembling weakness overcomes his body, and Raizel both melts and jerks in Frankenstein’s ever increasing hold. Frankenstein is everywhere within and without him, dark forms expanding, contracting — smoke, fire, electricity — surrounding them. He is drilling into him, reaching and grinding with his darkness. His powers caress Raizel everywhere, filling his mouth, coiling around his limbs, making him unseeing with pleasure and intensity, taking him.

Raizel’s body clenches and strains against Frankenstein’s surreal presence, pale, moonlit skin like milk against black ink. Dark flames worship every inch of his form, hunger barely restrained from becoming violence with tremendous effort.

A low rumble reverberates in Frankenstein’s chest as his mouth works at Raizel’s neck, all sharp teeth and craving tongue carving his skin.

Raizel closes his eyes tightly, unable to give proper voice to the overwhelming force of feeling as he is brought to a harrowing orgasm, keening with it — devoured. His heated body spills its pleasure into Frankenstein’s hand, patterning its dark clad form generously with translucent white. The world becomes muted and distant to Raizel, as the sensations rolling through him are the only things he can seem to comprehend. His cock twitches wantonly in Frankenstein's firm grasp as his climax recedes again with a few weak, vestigial spatters.

Finally, he is allowed air, his mouth suddenly freed. Raizel swallows, throat raw and ravished. “Frankenstein...” He whispers, spent and rasping as he holds him. “Frankenstein...” he calls, tender and calming.

Slowly, Frankenstein returns to himself, and the darkness recedes.

* * *

Frankenstein's eyes drift downwards over his Master's bare form, relaxed into the pillows supporting his back.

He wipes down Raizel with utmost care, worshipping his neck, his collar, shoulders, arms, and legs. He touches his skin as if it is sacred, fingertips whispering over Raizel, brushing over the places he knows he has dared to bite and mark even if those minor wounds have long since disappeared. “Master...” Frankenstein murmurs without the pretense of conversation. He only wants to hear the word and feel it on his own impudent tongue, the one with the audacity to lap at his master’s blood. He bows his head. “Master...” he whispers, as if repenting, as if in prayer. The weight of his submission is immeasurable.

He looks up when he feels Raizel's delicate fingers curl in his hair, slipping easily between the locks and drawing his silent attention. Raizel offers him a comforting smile, like Frankenstein's company means everything to him. He draws Frankenstein to lie on his chest.

Frankenstein sighs, wrapping his arms protectively around Raizel. "You are my _Master,_ " he quietly reiterates to both of them.

Raizel runs his fingers through Frankenstein's hair, then trails his hand soothingly down his back. "I am your Master," he says in return as he ushers in a sleepy silence.

The shallow, rhythmic rise and fall of Raizel's breath grounds Frankenstein.

They hear the soft purr of a car turning into the driveway below outside the window as Ragar returns from his evening errands. The sound of the car door slamming shut is dulled and signals the beginning of their friend’s trek to their front door with grocery bags in both of his hands.

In hushed company, Raizel whispers, “Our friend has returned, Frankenstein.”

The corner of Frankenstein’s lips lifts playfully. “Perhaps we should have him join us, Master.”

Kindly, Raizel nods.


	2. Chapter 2

When Ragar wakes, it is the early morning, the sky still a deep, dark hue, though the golden light of the sun begins to bleed in from the horizon. Glancing around, he notes that the bed is empty besides himself, his companions having flitted elsewhere. He does not remain in his own company for long, however, as Sir Raizel steps through the door moments later. In his hands is a bowl of fresh fruit—grapes, apple slices, and cubes of melon.

Ragar hurries to throw the covers to the side and take the bowl from his hands, feeling both grateful and impudent for having Sir Raizel serve him in such a way. “Thank you, Sir.” Ragar’s head dips respectfully, undone hair falling forward. He quickly ties off his usual ponytail before pulling his mask down to indulge in the crisp sweetness of the fruit.

Ragar blinks, stilling suddenly, when he feels the could touch of an apple slice pressed to his lips by Sir Raizel’s own hand. Something akin to embarrassment flutters in his chest, but obediently, he opens his mouth to take the offering inside. He swallows it down and licks remnant sweetness from his lips. “Sir Raizel...”

Raizel touches his mouth delicately with his fingertips, beckoning Ragar to open once more. He lightly traces the edge of his teeth, tenderly, understandingly. “Show me your fangs,” Raizel says.

Ragar’s face colors in telling ways. Revealing his teeth is an intimate act, but he obeys without question. His canines extend to sharp points.

Raizel touches his fangs, a ritual none other are privileged to. The tips press against his finger, in danger of breaking skin.

Ragar takes a deep breath, his eyes trained solely on Sir Raizel. Anticipation squeezes his chest when the Noblesse's other hand drifts down to rest on his hips, fingertips sliding under the edge of his black shirt and delicately tracing toned muscle shapes.

"Ragar, do you hunger?" His voice is quiet and soothed, even as Ragar suddenly finds himself short of breath.

Ragar looks at him with questioning eyes, unable to voice a response with his mouth pried open.

"You may bite me," his liege says.

Ragar's eyes widen. His soul shivers. He lowers his eyes and considers for a long moment. Then, he bites. His teeth sink, fangs puncture and then slip into Sir Raizel's flesh, deep and slow. It is a smooth motion with no resistance, the sharpness of his teeth splitting apart soft skin as easily as his leige would allow. Blood is warm on his tongue, and Ragar presses forward, further welcoming Raizel's fingers into him warmly. He closes his eyes and suckles on the flow. His face heats; his soul burns. He almost finds himself moaning for it but sighs instead.

Ragar knows that what he craves, he cannot truly have—a bond, a Bonded—but he blossoms with gratitude for Sir Raizel for granting him at least the simulation of one, noble to noble.

When Raizel withdraws his fingers, a long trail of saliva glints between them.

Ragar lowers his head, demure and indulgent. He savors the contact that takes place in planes beyond the physical—the inherent loneliness of an idividual existence eclipsed by the entanglement of souls, and that of Sir Raizel's is always loving and overwhelming. The mere fact of existence itself becomes fulfilling, and Ragar cannot have enough. He is dazed in the ensuing silent moments.

Raizel's hand slides against his skin, lifting his shirt and then ghosting over his hips, thighs, and then between them, caressing in intimate ways, but restrained by the cover of his clothes.

Ragar sighs, pressing forward with anticipation. His cock stiffens shamelessly against Raizel's touch.

The bowl of fruit is quickly placed on the bedside table.

"Your appetite is far from sated," Raizel knows. He leans Ragar back, climbs onto the bed, and slots his thigh between Ragar's legs as he pulls the noble onto him. Guiding his vassal closer to his bare neck.

Ragar takes a breath. He presses eagerly into him, the warmth of their bodies mirroring their union in soul.

"Drink, Ragar," Raizel whispers. His fingers flutter over Ragar's skin, stroking the smooth, toned forms. A hand reaches in between his legs to feel knowingly at Ragar's arousal that aches under the confines of his snug clothing.

Ragar clenches on the inside and grinds against Sir Raizel's hand in scandalous ways. Riding on the waning high of the soul, he feels himself become wet before long. "Sir Raizel..." he murmers. "Are you certain?" Despite the politeness of his words, he cannot help but jerk greedily against his Noblesse, lusting for more contact, the separation between them due to his clothing becoming infuriating to him.

Raizel tips his head back slightly. "Frankenstein is not present. You may have your fill of me."

He dips his head. "Thank you...my liege." Ragar parts his lips, ghosting warm, needy breath against his neck. His fangs press cleanly and deeply, an impossibly intimate sort of penetration that perversely parts his soul before Sir Raizel. A small, gratified sound escapes the back of Ragar's throat.

Raizel's hands attend to Ragar's body, carressing and pressing, as his presence embraces his partner, filling Ragar in perfect, harrowing ways and imparting on him the full weight of Raizel's regard for him.

Ragar surfaces, as if for air, a gasp trembling in his lungs. He bites again deeper, more violently, much like experiencing hunger for the first time. His teeth perforate Raizel's skin, and he presses his fangs in as far as they will go as his lips mould tenderly around the shape of his neck. The feeling of _Raizel_ overcomes him, and he drinks to chase it further into himself, both body and soul yearning for completion. Abandoned, Ragar ruts into Raizel, both loving and maddened by the paltry friction against his tight state of dress. His hands wrap around to clutch viciously at Raizel's soft, white shirt, the force and ache of his want expressed in the forceful curl of his fingers that threaten to tear into those provoking clothes.

Ragar whimpers, muffled, fangs still set deep into Raizel's flesh as he swallows and swallows. Blood and soul warm him unimaginably, parting him, penetrating him, filling him, and consuming him. He shudders and presses down with beseeching desperation into Raizel's hand as a quiet climax ripples through his body. A strained moan barely passes through the pressure of Ragar's lips against Raizel's skin, and he is prone and tense against Raizel for a long moment, his soul full but his body far from satisfied.

His pants are damp against Raizel's, the wet of his maddeningly withdrawn orgasm having seeped obscenely through the fabric that quickly chills against his skin. Ragar's pussy clenches with longing and his slicked cock twitches within the confines of his clothing as he finally withdraws his fangs. He rests his head against Raizel's shoulder. "Sir Raizel..." he yearns quietly.

Raizel's hand, now wet as well, remains between his legs and strokes him pleasantly and far too tamely.

Ragar bucks against him, greedy for more, but Raizel does not yield the torturously subdued treatment.

Cum stains the inside of his pants and wetly covers Ragar's cock and thighs as Sir Raizel grinds his hand against him. Then, Raizel withdraws.

Ragar's breath stills. "Sir...?" he inquires, soft and breathy.

Still dazed, it takes him a moment longer to realize that Raizel has backed away and is pressing a grape to his lips. With a start, Ragar takes the fruit into his mouth and obediently consumes it—sweet and chilled.

Raizel smiles at him, a beautiful, fragile sight. "Frankenstein is finished. We should not be late for breakfast," he says.

Ragar blinks with understanding as he begins to shake himself awake. He swallows, trying to regain bearings, to calm his soul and body even as they pang for more, even as they remain riled and craving to be filled and fucked.

Sighing lightly with the air of finality, Ragar nods, mercilessly tucking away his desires for the time being.

* * *

The connection tying their souls together is consciously snuffed out by the time they reach the bottom of the stairs and turn into the kitchen.

"I hope you have an appetite," Frankenstein casually greets as he sinks the ladel into a pot of spicy stew on the stovetop.

Ragar collects several bowls from the drying rack. Each one softy clinks as he sets it down on the table. He tugs at his mask and eyes Raizel who drifts quietly to his seat. "I am ravenous," Ragar answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Queen for participating in this fic trade with me! For more hermaphrodite Ragar/Frankenstein/Rai with playful smut and tender feelings, check out her fic, "For Love or Science". :)


End file.
